


Radiance

by bobafutch



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 17:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobafutch/pseuds/bobafutch
Summary: The Hunter becomes a true Vileblood.





	Radiance

The Hunter entered the Queen’s chamber to echoing laughter.   
  


"Master, look! I've done it, I've done it! I smashed and pounded and grounded this rotten siren into fleshy pink pulp!" Alfred stood over what seemed like a sea of blood and viscera, his hands and wheel dripping, robes red up to the thigh with flesh and fluid.  
"There, you filthy monstrosity! What good's your immortality now! Try stirring up trouble in this sorry state! All mangled and twisted, with every inside on the outside, for all the world to see!" Alfred’s mad laughter continued.

"Oh, you, is it? Look at this!” Alfred turned to the Hunter, beaming, bareing all his teeth. “Thanks to you, I've done it! Well? Isn't it wonderful? Now Master can be canonized as a true martyr!” Alfred laughed. “I've done it, I have!" The Hunter companionably giggled a little, and licked her canines. 

“Oh Alfred, this is your last hunt.” She brought her blade up and slashed at him.   
“Just what is the meaning of this?” Alfred cried, “Why turn your blade on me? You're jealous, aren't you? Unclean wench!” He hissed, pulling his wheel down from his shoulder, 

“Vile monstrosity! Bloody fool!” He wound up, slowly, and swung his wheel upwards, its journey from his back up both ponderous and swift. 

“Has the blood gone to your head?” Alfred asked, slamming his wheel down, catching the Hunter’s non-dominant shoulder even as she rolled away from him, trying to avoid the blow. She shrieked in pain. She sprung to her feet and raised her saw in a defensive position, unextended, to try to use her speed to dart around of Alfred’s slow, powerful swings of the wheel and get her swifter cuts in. 

As he lifted his wheel against his shoulder, he began to spin it around its axis. Red mist began to coalesce around it, and a faint shrieking-blood? No, the Hunter realized with horror as she began to make out faces, bodies, twisting, screaming in the redness. Spirits. Vileblood spirits. Every one that he had ever killed, bound, tied to the wheel in agony for some cursed life after death. Their promised immortality.

Alfred brought the wheel down again, just in front of her knee this time. The spirits howled, as if incensed that they had missed an opportunity to shed blood. Their wailing was beginning to get into the Hunter’s head, distract her, cloud her vision. The Hunter dodged around Alfred as best she could and darted as near as she dared to slash at his body. She was not quick enough to dodge him this time.

“Pathetic,” Alfred sneered, as his wheel bounced off her ribs and she heard something crack. It hurt her terribly, and she felt a moment of panic as she realized Alfred may have broken a rib. She did not fear death, exactly, but it would be incredibly inconvenient for the Hunter’s plans if she died right now.

“As you deserve!" he cackled, when he saw her roll away, coming up on one knee, and patted her bandolier desperately for blood, listing to the side, but she hadn’t even a moment to grab a vial as he rolled towards her and lifted his wheel above his shoulder again. She panickedly fired a shot at him, which caught him in the shoulder and threw him off long enough for her to scramble back to her feet and open a wound in his arm. He roared.

“The blood! You’ve spilled my blood!” He lifted his wheel again, and the Hunter quickly made to cut at his armpit, and he dropped it quickly to dodge her. The spirits screamed again. They wouldn’t stop screaming. She felt ghostly hands pawing at the pieces of her hair and the skin left bare by her mask. It revolted her.

The whole scene sickened her. She was desperately throwing off Alfred’s attacks by cutting at him with her saw as he slowly revved his wheel, slipping on the blood soaked carpet and sliding on the various pieces of flesh strewn about by Alfred’s attack on Queen Annalise, Her body a ruination to match the abandoned castle around them. 

She caught him as he tilted his head back with the effort of raising his head for a final blow, his throat exposed beneath his cone helm just enough for her to rear up and slash it open. Alfred fell to his knees, brought down by the weight of his wheel. He struggled to whisper, and the Hunter knelt to listen to him. 

“Pray for Master Logarius...in my stead…” Alfred wheezed. Funny. She’d cut him well enough to bleed him out but hadn’t managed to sever his vocal cords.            

The Hunter stood stiffly, and licked her lips, thinking of the blood she would take to heal her wounds. She limped to the throne, performing a transfusion as she walked. The soothing rush of numbness that came with the healing blood felt like a warm bath on a cold day. She felt somewhat lightheaded, and smiled that her plan had worked out so perfectly.     

All that was left on that highest seat was a gently pulsating mass of flesh and blood, a pouch of organs and veins. There was no body. The Hunter felt her bile rise as she surveyed what Alfred had done. There wasn’t even a body.

The Hunter took out a knife and set slowly to work on the mask. If she carefully levered her short blade between the skull case and the cap of the mask, she could...pop...Annalise’s skull out. 

She did so. Her Lady’s face was fair. Queen Annalise’s eyes were closed, but they darted and twitched beneath Her eyelids as if trapped in troubled dreams. She was beautiful. Her face was lined with age, but Her skin was beautifully smooth to the touch, almost hard beneath the silky, well preserved skin. 

A net of fine lines surrounded Her eyes, and harsher ones carved out to the side of Her nose, but She was all the more lovely for the apparent flaws of age. The Hunter carefully cradled her Queen’s head to her breast, and slowly made to gather the remains from about to the throne room into an oilcloth bag. 

 

She carried it to the altar that she had found beneath the Cathedral, where the weeping Ebrietas had waited and been bled. She carefully laid her Lady’s body on the altar in as close to the correct order as she could. Head to the left, organs to the right, assorted bones and viscera in the middle. She closed her eyes. As soon as the Hunter did so, she heard a horrific squelching and squishing noise, barely covered by the strange wooshing sensation she felt  _ inside _ her head. 

When the Hunter opened her eyes, her Lady Queen lay whole on the altar again. Withered, and unconscious, but whole. The Hunter slowly wrapped Her body in the shroud she’d brought with her for this purpose, and began the journey back to Cainhurst.

The Doll said nothing when she saw the Hunter enter the dream with what seemed to be a corpse draped over her shoulder.

When the Hunter arrived at the lamp deep within the castle, she carefully carried the Queen’s body to the throne and set Her down, carefully arranging Her on the throne, unwrapping Her from Her shroud, combing Her hair out with her fingers as best she could without the aid of her Lady’s enthralled servants, and administering as much blood as she dared. 

With each transfusion, her Lady’s body became less withered and corpse-like. The blood filled Her flesh out, gently plumping it with fluid, swelling its various muscles and organs. 

When the Hunter had spent her last blood vial, she gently kissed the Queen’s lips and retreated to kneel before Her in tribute. She heard a waking inhalation, but kept her head bent until she heard her Lady Queen speak.

 

“Stand, my Hunter, and approach Our royal dais.” The Hunter slowly rose from her stiffly held position and, blade sheathed, approached her lady Queen. She smiled benevolently. “We will reward thou for your loyalty. For Our freedom. We shall make you a Vileblood truly.”

With surprising strength, Queen Annalise pulled the Hunter into Her lap. The Hunter gasped in surprise and the Queen smiled at her, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she did so. “Fear Us not, gentle Hunter. Bare thy neck for Us. Remove the heaviest of thy rainement. Thou wilt wish to be comfortable.” The Hunter carefully undid the bandolier around her chest, and shrugged out of her coat. Unsure of what to do, she looked to her Queen who nodded that she may simply put these items on the dais. The Hunter took off her mask and her hat, setting these carefully atop the coat on the ground. 

The Queen nodded and touched the Hunter’s vest. “This too, good Hunter. And thy shirt. Thou shalt thank me later.” The Hunter looked away and bit her lip nervously. Queen Annalise impatiently began to unbutton her shirt. “Remember that this is Our right as thy Queen,” Queen Annalise warned with narrowed eyes. The buttons were undone, but the Hunter’s gloves remained. She began to pick at the laces as well as she could through her gloves, but the tight leather was an impediment. “Peace, good Hunter,” the Queen began to unlace the black gloves for her. 

At last, the Hunter sat in the Queen’s lap bared to her chemise; pants and boots maintaining the last of her modesty. The Queen said, lovingly stroked her throat, “Lay back in Our arms.” The Hunter carefully reclined in her Lady’s thin arms, surprised that the Queen seemed completely unbothered by her weight. 

“Highness,” she began, but the Queen shushed her. The Hunter half sat, half lay across the Queen’s lap, one of the Queen’s arms supporting her shoulders, head held in Her royal hand, while the Queen’s other hand possessively stroked Her Hunter’s face. 

The Hunter gasped when she felt the Queen’s lips brush her neck. She heard the Queen laugh quietly against her skin, the susurration of Her breath a pleasurable chill. “Now, this may pinch a bit,” was the last warning Queen Annalise gave the Hunter before pressing Her open mouth to the Hunter’s throat and biting down. The Hunter yelped and began to struggle in the Queen’s arms as she felt Her  _ suck  _ on the wound. 

It hurt her. She could feel the Queen’s sharp teeth opening a small, neat wound in her jugular, sealing Her mouth over it as if to give a love bite; instead of take sudden, massive draughts as She began to partake of the Hunter’s blood.

The sucking sensation  _ itself _ was painful. The Hunter could feel her blood leaving her body and entering the Queen’s, suffusing Her mouth. She could feel drops of blood escaping to redden her Queen’s lips where they met the Hunter’s neck, slightly smearing her own blood over herself. 

Then the Hunter’s pain was overtaken by a languorous, wondrous pleasure. A bell seemed to ring in her ears, of the purest and most musical tone, as she felt a wonderful warmth overtake her, the coldness of the hall suddenly pleasant on her skin, memories of cool water sliding down her throat on hot summer days suddenly on her mind, the heavy sunlight and sweet, fervent scent of summer suddenly in her nose and thoughts. She almost remembered a time before she came to Yharnam, when she was truly healthy and whole, and laughed with people she loved in the honeyed light of the sun.

She felt completely relaxed, in a way that felt like she hadn’t been for what felt like  _ years _ , her arms loosely wrapped around her Lady’s shoulders, her head lolling, back relaxed and draping, thighs tightly crossed over each other; the soft, wet sounds of the Queen licking at her neck a disturbance, but a quiet one, overshadowed by the delightful bell ringing in her ears, the summery light that seemed to be enveloping her out of nowhere; the refreshing coolness of the hall and her Queen’s hard arms a pleasurable contrast on her senses. 

A vision, of the royal hall full not of statues but with the nobility and knighthood of Cainhurst, dresses and robes swirling and twirling, blood red silk and jeweled sheathes flashing in the candlelight, tinkling laughter and whispered intrigues surrounding the Queen at the height of Her power, endless supplicants seeking Her blood, rebuffed by Her Majesty; giving out Her precious blood only to those most worthy,  _ a child of blood, a child of blood _ , on the tongues of all Her nobility.  Beautiful men and women with glowing skin, bright eyes and nails, all incandescently lovely.

She felt  _ good _ . The Hunter felt better than she had ever felt, in fact. Every part of her was tense and limp at the same time, her legs gently churned against each other even as her arms draped so weakly the Queen took one of Her own hands to secure the Hunter’s arm around Her neck.

She basked in sublime contentment until she felt herself weakening, to the point of limply hanging in her Queen’s arms, and she found herself trying to struggle again as she realized the Queen was bleeding her, drinking her, to near the point of death. 

Sudden pain came over her as her blood vessels strained empty, the cold on her skin suddenly intolerable, her throat aflame where the Queen wounded her, her entire body set with a thousand sharp pains-the underside of her skin on fire. Impotently, the Hunter raised her hand to push the Queen off, but managed only to lay her hand on the cold skin of Her shoulder. The Queen lifted Her head from the Hunter’s throat, but it was of Her own will as much as the Hunter’s kitten-weak movements. “Ask for it,” the Queen whispered through Her bloody lips, “Ask us for the gift of eternal life; it shall be thine, child. Thine oath is sworn, but thou must take the gift of thine own will. You must ask.”  
“Yes,” whispered the Hunter, “ _Yes_. Give...it...to me…life eternal...” 

Queen Annalise smiled. “As thou wish, good Hunter.” She gashed Her wrist with Her sharp teeth and brought it to the Hunter’s mouth. “As thou wish, honorable vassal-Hunter of Cainhurst.” Almost without consciousness, the Hunter’s hands seized her Queen’s wrist as she smelled the ancient blood and brought it to her mouth, whereupon it sealed onto the opened vein. 

She sucked her Lady’s rotten blood from Her veins and felt it burning, burning through her throat, into her veins and arteries, spreading into her entire body. Queen Annalise tasted unlike any other blood the Hunter had ever drunk. There was a  _ finesse _ to it, a subtlety of flavor wholly unlike the overwhelmingly metallic and bitter taste of the Church’s blood. It was sweet with the taste of rotting meat and flowers.

She felt strength return to her, and the same sublime pleasure she felt when Queen Annalise was draining her, as her pains faded away, the fire under her skin put out by the cool blood, and the wound in her throat closed. She couldn’t get enough. Her body seized in a rictus of pleasure as her thighs quaked and she desperately held Queen Annalise’s slender wrist with all her blood-borne strength to her mouth, chasing the delicate, rotten, flavor down to the Queen’s bones. 

She had never felt like this before. Insatiable and aroused to a horrific violence that some part of her balked at, the same part of her that she forget when she came to Yharnam, became a beast-hunter, the part that she buried to relish in the hunting and stalking of her prey. The part of her that now roared with fiery passion to drink her lady-Queen’s old blood.

She drank, and drank, until the Queen pulled Her wrist away. “Enough, my child. Thou has’t had enough.” The Hunter moaned, and the Queen smiled indulgently to see her so enthusiastic. “Now,” she whispered, “Thou art truly a vileblood born.” She cradled the Hunter gently in Her arms, smiling still at the woman, seeming a girl again in her curled up smallness, throat and chemise bloody. All red, lovely deep red. Venal blood so dark it seemed black. “Thou art Ours forever and ever, Our last Vileblood. It is only the two of Us now, and thou art finally reforged in Our true image. Rise.” 

The Hunter shakily lifted herself from the Queen’s lap, legs weak and coltish, assisted by Queen Annalise’s wiry arms. She felt like her eyes had reopened onto a new world. The light coming through the stained glass seemed a thousand times more magnificent, the glass suddenly more prismatic and purely colorful, not oversaturated, but simply more itself. Blue was bluer, the dark blood staining her breasts and chemise a truer red, the grey of the hall more honestly grey. She could see the inhuman smoothness of her Queen’s skin reflecting back light, Her whole naked body aflame with it, and she could see the dead blood that did not circulate beneath her bright skin, the sharpness of Her teeth, the way light caught on Her nails clearly. The lines on her Lady’s face seemed to belong there totally, enhancing Her unholy beauty more than tarnishing it. Queen Annalise was all the more lovelier for Her age, the eternity that She bore so gracefully. 

The Hunter looked down at her own hands. Her own skin was as smooth as the Queen’s and totally unblemished, all her old scars healed and gone. Only the pockmark that scarred her where she had received her first infusion remained, and even that was reduced to a faint dimple. The light seemed to catch on it in a wholly new and unfamiliar way, like the unnatural glow off the Queen’s pale skin. The Hunter’s own dark skin seemed to radiate a gentle golden light in contrast to the harsh gleam of her Queen, a subtly inhuman shining where her skin caught the light. 

“A Vileblood,” the Hunter breathed. “A truly born Vileblood.” Queen Annalise smiled. “Yes, my child. And since you are the very last of my children, I shall make you the strongest.” 

“How!” cried the Hunter, “How would you make me even more than what I am now,” for she truly felt like an entirely different creature, her limbs stronger than ever, her undead heart pumping more powerfully than ever, as if she were blooddrunk, but her thoughts clear and light. “Why,” said Queen Annalise “We shall simply do it again. Let Us drink of thee, and We shall allow thee to take of Our blood in turn. To drink so much aged blood is to take so much of Our eternal nature into thee, and to drink of thine young blood is such a pleasure.”   
“Yes, your Highness,” the Hunter said, looking away with pretty modesty. “To drink is a pleasure.” Her Queen smiled. “And all the blood thou shalt taste hereafter will be as sweet, but none shall feel quite like Ours, and no blood feels to Us like thine, sweet child.” 

The Hunter felt herself overcome by a terrible passion “Then drink of me as Your Highness wishes, my Lady Queen, as much as Your Highness could desire.” 

“Dear Hunter,” said Queen Annalise, “Too much indulgence is harmful. We shall partake of one another again and again, but we must restrict such activity. After all, how far can We magnify thy power through such ritual before it becomes too great for thee? Before it loses its sacristy? No, child, you may only drink Our blood at intervals few and far between, and as for Us, We have little need of blood. But thou are yet young, and need to partake of blood every day, at the very least. Though thou needs not mortal food any longer, and must be wary of the sun. It will not kill thee but it may very well harm thee if thou allows it to shine upon your skin too long.”

The Hunter already took blood frequently, a hazard of her profession, but this surprised her. Now she  _ needed _ it every day? Before she could hazard any questions, she suddenly doubled in two, seized by a terrible pain in her intestines as she vomited everything that had been in her stomach, falling to her knees as she felt herself ruining her own clothes with foul fluids. 

“Ah,” the Queen sighed, “We did forget the worst part of dying. For Thou art dead now, sweet Hunter, and thy body will soon forget all it meant to be alive. We shall call for a thrall to bathe and clothe thee. They shall respond to thou too, now that thou art a true Vileblood. A Knight of Cainhurst. Our Knight.”

The Hunter groaned in response from her ungraceful position on the floor. Everything hurt again. “Good Hunter, when thou art refreshed, We will give thee more of our own blood. All in good time.” Queen Annalise smiled, glorious and naked upon Her royal throne, triumphant in her new freedom. Her thirst finally slaked. 

“All in good time.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this with the idea, what if there was Ricean vampire fanfiction about Queen Annalise turning the Hunter. But first I had to get her out of the mask...Anyways read the Vampire Chronicles. I love comments!! They make me want to write more :^)


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